


Can You Hear Me?

by mackboeser



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, This is really sad, Tyson Jost just needs a hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, depression and anxiety, im so sorry, tyson jost is scared and so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackboeser/pseuds/mackboeser
Summary: This is really sad. Please take note of the warnings in the tags.





	Can You Hear Me?

**Author's Note:**

> If you found this by googling yourself or someone you know, please click away.  
> This is pure FICTION.

Sometimes he felt like a disappointment. He wasn’t the best or even the worst. He was just average. He was just good enough to make it, but not good enough to be a constant topic. He accepted that; He was okay with that. The spotlight made him anxious and uncomfortable. It was nice every so often, but too much of it was not something he wanted. And he supposed that was okay. It wasn’t like he was the only one that didn’t like being on the spot during media scrums or in other areas. But he was just himself; Tyson. They called him Josty since Brutes was also Tyson, but he was also alright with that. 

The thing about it was that Tyson was just himself. He tried his absolute best to keep everything under control, play his game, and be true to himself. It was hard, though. He kept himself closeted. He kept himself confined into a small box. The league wasn’t ready for a gay player. The team wasn’t ready for a gay player. He wasn’t ready to be the only active gay player. So he let himself close that part of him off. He let himself lie and pretend to be someone he knows he’s not. He let himself hurt for every time he heard some form of homophobic comment or slur, brushing it off as a joke. But to Tyson, it wasn’t a joke. It fucking hurt.

He wasn’t ashamed to be gay. He wasn’t ashamed. He was just extremely scared. He was terrified. Hockey was his dream. Hockey was everything to him. Being gay wasn’t something he had asked for, but it happened. So he worked himself constantly to reach him dream. He worked himself constantly to prove the teammates and coaches that said “Gay kids would never make it to or in the NHL” that they were wrong. Now that he was here, though, it was far more terrifying than he’d like to admit. He didn’t want to lose everything he worked for. He didn’t want any of it to come to an end. He chose hockey over true happiness because at least with hockey, he could lose himself in the game and have those moments of pure joy.

That’s how things were. He denied himself any form of release of his emotions to play the sport he grew up loving and hoping for. He let himself hurt and hide because the fear of everything crashing down on him was far too strong. The Colorado Avalanche was different for him, though. They were a fairly young team with talent and skill. His teammates were his second family and he knew he’d do anything for them. These were the guys he trusted wholeheartedly on and off the ice. The idea of coming out to them crossed his mind a lot when moments of complete admiration and love for his teammates came around. He really did trust them, but he couldn’t do that to them. He couldn’t spring this all on them and break up that bond the team was thriving off of. So all the words he wanted to say to them were never spoken and it was better that way.

They were winning more than they were losing. The season was already intense and everyone was running high on adrenaline. They were doing insane. Mikko was top of the league with points; Nate not far behind him. The team was together and working so hard to pull out wins. It was almost surreal to Tyson. He felt as though he were dreaming. Everything was just how it should be for the team. He was happy, but he knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. He held onto this feeling so tightly. The last time he felt this way, he was thirteen and had just had his first kiss with a boy in one of his classes from school. It was amazing. He was okay and happy and didn’t feel like such a disappointment. That’s all he could’ve asked for. 

With winning came the celebrating. Most of the guys were young and single, which meant they could go out to a bar or something and hook up. Tyson preferred to sit back and watch. He never drank or tried to pawn drinks off of anyone, but listening to some of the guys make their plans to hook up was making him jittery. It would’ve been fine, but they were trying to drag Tyson into it as well. “You never talk to anyone!” They said. “You could totally find someone to hook up with!” They’d tell him. But Tyson only smiled and shook his head. He didn’t need to “hook up.” He didn’t need to find someone. He just wanted to focus on hockey. He could always find someone later on, but right now, hockey was it. Or at least, he wanted hockey to be it.

Tyson knew the other guys liked to chirp him about every little thing they could find. They all did it to each other, but this was… different. It, at least, felt different. The snickering started as soon as he came into the locker room. His stall was covered in pink glitter. There were pictures taped to the inside of it. It was a joke. All of it was just a big elaborate joke. Tyson stared at the poorly photoshopped pictures. He placed his bag down in the pile of glitter. His mind was racing. He felt sick. This was all just a joke to them. “A fairy.” He had stated plainly. He wasn’t sure where any of it had come from, but a surge of disappointment and sadness spread through him. He knew the happiness wouldn’t last, but he shoved some stuff aside and pushed through it.

Distance was a funny thing, especially nowadays. His mom was a phone call away. He could call her whenever he wanted. That’s not to say she’ll answer all the time, but it was still something to him. And he was hurting. He was hurting so bad. He needed her. His mom, bless her, did actually answer. And she listened to her son cry, full of pain and desperation for things to be different. Her heart ached for him. But this was Tyson’s thing. This was something she knew he needed to come to terms with, overcome, and let himself be. He always was too hard on himself.

Tyson cried every so often. When things got to be too much, he couldn’t hold those tears back any longer. When things really hurt him, he’d allow himself to cry. The fairy incident had been quite a lot for him to handle. He knew it was a joke. It was all just a friendly joke, but Tyson couldn’t help dwelling on it. It hurt him beyond words. And after all the years of hearing homophobic slurs and disgusting hate speech that happened in a hockey locker room, he really did begin to believe that maybe gay kids would never make it in the NHL. So all the pain overflowed and he cried. He cried for himself for thinking he could do this. He cried for the kids that never got to see the NHL. He cried for the kids that stopped too soon. He cried for the players that kept themselves closeted. He cried for the people that had big dreams, but couldn’t make them come true due to their sexuality. He cried for the ones that left the world too early. He cried for the ones that continue to hurt. He cried for the ones that are still looking for the role model that’s just like them. If Tyson were a stronger man, he’d be that role model. But he kept his mouth shut and his gaze down. No one could see the hurt behind his eyes like that. No one would know.

Time passed agonizingly slow. They kept playing games, winning more often than not. The dynamics were kept tight and thrived every night. And things seemed to be okay. Because Tyson was playing his best hockey and that was what his team needed and deserved. But Tyson, behind closed doors, still struggled. He felt trapped. He felt so afraid and anxious and everything seemed to be going so slow around him. The reality was that he was depressed. He was hurting so bad in his heart and his mind. And sometimes after a particularly rough game, Tyson poked at his bruises because the pain was what he deserved, or at least, that’s what his mind told him. That’s how things seemed to go for awhile. He poked harshly at his bruises unconsciously at times and never seemed to give it a second thought. He never noticed his own deteriorating health because this was normal, wasn’t it?

He tore himself apart after every loss, but tonight just seemed to hit him more harshly. There was no specific reason why tonight was worse. They played hard and fast, putting up four goals to tie. Overtime was always a bitch, but their opponents for the night bested them during it. The loss wasn’t too bad for anyone else. However, Tyson kept to himself. He forced the emotions back and kept his tears at bay. His hotel room was where he broke. Everything was too much, but not enough. The room was too hot and too cold. He couldn’t breathe, or at least, it felt like it. The first cut was an accident. That couldn’t be said about the others, though. He convinced himself he deserved it and added three more.

Hiding the cuts and scars was actually easier than creating them. He hid in bathroom stalls to change, used some of the foundation that his mom had left at his place to cover up. It was easy. Or at least, he believed it was. When things were particularly hard, he locked himself away in his bedroom. The fears of being caught, being outed, overwhelmed him. He’d grip his forearms with shaky hands, tear into his skin with his nails. The devastating thoughts that ran through his head terrified him enough to keep quiet. He never made a sound, letting the pain course through him. His heart ached with each beat. There was something that still clung to him. Tyson hugged himself tightly after these episodes. He hadn’t felt this worthless before. He hoped no one ever had to feel this way.

It was a stupid mistake. He’d cut too deep and the bleeding wouldn’t subside. He tried his best to cover it, clean it up and seal it away before getting to the rink. He managed enough to make it through the first two periods of the game. He wasn’t in pain, but he was trying so hard to avoid hits. The third period had been unsuccessful and when his body collided with Ryan Johansen of the Nashville Predators, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the blood coming from his cut. He knew he was an idiot, shouldn’t have done it before a game, but it was a release that he couldn’t keep himself from. He laid on the ice, doubled over as blood definitely seeped out of the bandage he had used. They were going to know. They were going to see his scars, his worthlessness. They were going to see just who Tyson was; A broken kid.

The trainer got him off the ice and into the medical room of the arena. He stripped so slowly, to the annoyance of the trainer. He gulped down his fear, tears prickling at the ends of his eyes. The trainer didn’t utter a word, just peeled back the bandages along his sides and let out a soft sigh. Tyson could feel himself becoming too antsy for this. He didn’t want anyone to know. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to do this. But he sat so still, holding his breath. The trainer did his job and patched him up, but shook his head at allowing him to go back out. Everything seemed to dawn on him in that moment. He was suddenly too hot and too cold. He couldn’t think or see. Everything was too much. He found himself scrambling back into the locker room to change. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He couldn’t be there anymore.  _ They knew. _

It all passed by in a blur. Tyson made it out of the arena, practically running. He didn’t trust himself to drive, but he sure as hell didn’t want to take an Uber or Lyft home. The trainers had tried to get him to stay, obviously on high alert, but he couldn’t face anyone. So he ran, phone buzzing harshly over and over again in his pocket. He couldn’t deal with this. His body hurt, but he kept pushing himself. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going at this point. He took himself far, though, and didn’t stop until he reached a small out of the way bakery. His suit was practically drenched due to the snow, but he shuffled inside quietly and picked a spot by the little fire place within the lounge area. He buried himself into a chair and pulled out his phone with shaking hands. 

The fears and feelings took over him as he read through the messages. His teammates, his coaches, his family… They all cared and he knew they did. That was the problem with depression; You consciously knew that people loved and cared about you, but your mental illness had convinced you otherwise. The tears welled up and spilled over almost instantly. He sniffled, shoving his face into his hands. So many of his teammates had immediately asked if he was alright and where he’d gone to. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t believe they cared. He wanted them to hate him, wanted them to finally understand and see why he hated himself. So he did the last damn thing he thought he’d never do.

He exited the small shop hastily. He legs carried him down the street and he hit record on his phone.

“I’m gay. I’m gay. I’ve been gay for years and I can’t… I can’t continue to live like this. I can’t keep hiding myself like this. I thought I could do it. I thought I could make it far and wait until I retired to come out, but I can’t do it. I was never made for that. All these years of constant homophobia and racism and sexism haunt me every single day. Even now, the locker room talk is just as bad and I can’t  _ fucking do it.  _ I don’t want to hide anymore. This is me. That’s part of me and I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve never been ashamed of it, but I’m terrified of the consequences and the pain that I know will come with being out like this. I can’t hide anymore. I keep hurting myself and it’s just not worth it anymore.  **_I’m so fucking sorry_ ** .”

And as his tears grew bigger, vision blurring, a press of a button allowed that to go public. With all of his strength, he placed himself against a brick wall under a cover and fell to a seated position.Tyson curled in on himself, body shaking from the sheer cold and sobs coursing through his body. His phone seemed to be buzzing more often than not at this point. He glanced down to see who was calling him this time. Nate’s caller ID flashed on the screen. He sniffled, knowing he should answer it.

He couldn’t bring himself to, though. He let it go to voicemail before shoving his phone away. He was freezing and tired and  _ hurting,  _ but he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He wouldn’t be able to handle the looks of disappointment and disapproval. So he sat there, curled in on himself as snow fell around him. The cold air numbed him to a dangerous point. However, Tyson had stopped caring a while ago. 

Everything ended up happening in a blur. He isn’t sure how they found him. He isn’t sure how they got him to anywhere, really. He was so out of it, so lost in himself. Everything hurt. He was so numb and  _ broken.  _ This was never how he pictured his whole hockey thing to go, but here he was, torn apart and raw. He was 20 years old and so damn  _ exhausted.  _ He hoped that this didn’t happen in vain. He wanted so badly to be a person other gay athletes could go to and see that they weren’t alone in this; they would never be alone in this. 

He couldn’t be that for them. He couldn’t even be that for himself. He was just so numb, so unmoved. There wasn’t much anyone could do for him anymore. He was placed so gently on something that he could barely register. There were voices all around him, sounding worried and hurt. He understood that. He understood being scared and constantly worrying. He almost felt bad, though. Whoever was there was hurting and he was causing them to hurt. It was the worst thing he’d ever experienced. 

He wasn’t processing what was happening anymore. He couldn’t keep up, couldn’t understand or see. A hand gently held him in place. He let out a soft whine, eyes unseeing as he looked around. 


End file.
